Those Salted Caramel Hot Chocolate Blues
by NeverNik
Summary: This story was submitted for the Strictly Dramione Secret Santa Fic Exchange 2017. Poor, pregnant Hermione is on bedrest and has a craving for the perfect salted caramel hot chocolate. Sadly, every one that Draco has brought so far has been wrong for some reason or another, but he's determined to get this right for her. Rated M for coarse language. One-shot.


**A/N The Harry Potter Universe comes courtesy of J.K. Rowling. The poor plot below is mine.**

* * *

It was done.

Hermione and Draco fell in love, right in the middle of a heated argument about who forgot to feed the Thestrals (they were on detention for arguing in Care of Magical Creatures class).

Once everyone got over the shock, they dated, moved in together, got engaged and then married. It was the Wedding of the Year. Rita Skeeter was banned from attending.

The cherry on top of their Happily Ever After was Hermione becoming pregnant just before their first wedding anniversary.

And this is where the story begins.

* * *

Hermione approached her pregnancy like she did with her school assignments and work projects – she researched the hell out of it. Soon, the room earmarked as the nursery was heaving with books, dossiers and parchments that covered every single pregnancy-related topic Hermione could find – both Wizard and Muggle.

So when she developed an insatiable craving for salted caramel hot chocolate, she consulted the filing cabinet marked 'Food' and discovered that cravings were a perfectly normal response to the hormonal changes happening in her body.

With this in mind, she also understood that it was perfectly normal for her to shriek at Draco the second he got home from work 'Give me a salted caramel hot chocolate or I'll kill myself!'

But poor Draco nearly had a heart attack.

* * *

'Tinker!'

Why his wife didn't ask their house-elf to make one for her, he couldn't fathom. She'd promised she'd put her S.P.E.W. days behind her.

Tinker popped into view. 'How may Tinker serve Master Draco?' he asked excitedly.

'Please make Madam Hermione a' – what was it again? – 'a caramel hot chocolate.'

Tinker bowed so low his nose touched the floor. 'At once, Master Draco!'

Sure enough, Tinker worked his magic and served the hot chocolate to Hermione, who was reading in the living room.

'Thank you, Tinker,' she smiled. Blushing, Tinker popped off.

She took a sip.

'Draco.'

Draco's handsome head was buried behind the _Daily Prophet_. 'Yes, love?'

'This is not salted caramel.'

He peered over the top of the paper. 'Oh. Was it supposed to be?'

'Well, when I asked for a salted caramel hot chocolate, I expected to receive a salted caramel hot chocolate.'

He was about to suggest that she make it herself, but her cheeks were looking dangerously red. 'Okay, no problem.' He collected her glass. 'One salted caramel hot chocolate coming up for the mother of our child,' he smiled, and headed to the kitchen.

But Tinker's next effort was also unsatisfactory. 'Too cold.'

The next was 'too hot.'

The next was 'a weird, funny colour.'

The next had 'floating bits in it.'

The next 'tastes like banana.'

And so on.

Eventually, Draco cornered Tinker in the kitchen. 'Tinker,' he said severely, 'this will not do. Madam Hermione is most upset.'

Tinker burst into loud sobs. 'Tinker has failed Madam Hermione!' he wailed, dabbing at his copious tears with the corner of his apron. 'Tinker must punish himself!' Glancing around, his eyes lit up and he lunged for the meat cleaver.

Draco rescued it before Tinker cleaved himself into two or more parts. 'You will not be punished,' he said wearily. 'Just find some recipes from other house elves and try those. Start with Malfoy Manor.'

Looking longingly at the meat cleaver, Tinker mumbled 'Yes, Master Draco' and disappeared.

Draco looked at the cleaver. It's a bloody hot chocolate, he thought dismissively. How hard could it possibly be?

After failed effort number one hundred and five, Draco conceded that this hot chocolate malarkey may be a little harder than he thought it was.

* * *

Hermione's eyes were wild. Like her hair. Like her temper.

'Draco,' she snarled, pacing back and forth in their bedroom like a caged lioness, 'I have to have a salted caramel hot chocolate. I _crave_ it. That is why it is called a craving. I can think of nothing else. Until or unless I receive a satisfactory salted caramel hot chocolate, there will be no more sex. Do I make myself clear?'

Oh, yeah. He and Not-So-Little Draco understood perfectly.

'But darling,' he countered, 'according to your dossier on pregnancy diet, salted caramel hot chocolate isn't on the approved list of food products to consume.'

She stared at him. 'What are the main components of a salted caramel hot chocolate?'

'Well… milk, chocolate and caramel. And presumably salt, which doesn't make sense to me, but' -

'Are you telling me that milk is a food product that I am forbidden to consume?'

He flicked through the dossier. 'If it's unpasteurised… apparently, yes.'

She pinched the bridge of her nose. 'Draco, honey. All the milk we buy is pasteurised. So, unless you've bought a cow and stuck it in the back garden and you're milking it, our milk is pasteurised.'

Silence.

'Please tell me there isn't a cow in the back garden.'

'No! Of course not. As if a Malfoy would sully his hands with a farm animal.'

'Please get me my salted caramel hot chocolate. Please.'

* * *

After failed effort two hundred and thirty-seven, Draco was running out of ideas. He needed to speak to people who had gone through pregnancy before. For all he knew, Hermione's cravings were well outside the norm. Psychotically so, by his guess.

* * *

'Father, what was Mother like when she was pregnant?'

In his study, Lucius shuddered and poured a Firewhisky.

'Put it this way. There's a reason why you're an only child.'

* * *

After Lucius's mysterious and unsettling statement, Draco tried his mother. He found her in the garden, tending her beloved roses.

'Mother, what was Father like when you were pregnant?'

Narcissa smiled dreamily. 'He was such a doting husband. Nothing was a bother for him. He'd go to the ends of the earth to make me happy.'

'So, you never gave him any requests that might be interpreted as… unreasonable?'

Narcissa gave Draco the eye. 'There is no such thing as an unreasonable request from a pregnant woman.'

Draco gulped.

'Forgive me for prying, but did you plan to have more children after me?'

'Oh, yes!' she exclaimed. 'I wanted at least three. But shortly after your birth, your poor father had some sort of strange accident in Professor Snape's laboratory, and, well, that was the end of it.'

Draco gasped in horror. 'You mean… he's impotent?' he whispered. Huh. That might explain his temper.

Narcissa laughed and laughed. 'Oh, dear me, no!' she said, wiping a tear from her eye. 'He's just as virile and potent as the day I married him – possibly even more so.' She winked.

Not what I want to hear, Draco thought despairingly.

'In fact, last night' –

'Mother!'

She sighed. 'He became sterile, darling.' Then she tutted. 'Silly boy, playing with Severus's equipment like that. He wasn't that great at Potions, you understand.'

'Really?' Draco exclaimed, affronted. 'He boasted that he got top marks in everything at school every time he berated me for coming second to Hermione.'

'Pft. Severus was top of the class in Potions, followed by me. He has such a bee in his bonnet about Malfoy men being beaten by girls. I'm so glad you're much wiser than that, darling.'

* * *

'Father, did you deliberately sterilise yourself to get out of having more children? That's a tad extreme, don't you think?'

Lucius's eyes were almost wild. 'You have no idea what she was like!' he said hoarsely. 'At least once you were born we could fob you off to the house-elves, but as the husband, I was expected to do everything to help her when she was pregnant! It was a nine-month waking nightmare!'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'It's called love, Father. Being there for your wife who's going through so much change and pain and misery to bear your child.'

Lucius glared. 'I love your mother. It was running around like a house-elf that I didn't love.' He tapped his chin thoughtfully. 'It's almost as if there's some sort of curse on women who marry into the Malfoy family. Like they go mad when carrying Malfoy… what's the Muggle term? Jeans?'

He settled into his wing-back chair, ignoring Draco's white face. 'Anyway. Is there a reason why you're asking these highly personal questions?'

'Er, no. Just seeing life from another perspective, that's all.'

Lucius eyeballed him. 'How's Hermione doing?' he asked.

Draco shot up out of his chair. 'Oh! Look at the time! I have to… yeah. Bye, Father.'

Lucius watched the barely-existing dust settle on the floor after Draco dashed out on winged feet.

He sniggered. Twenty-five years old, husband and almost-father, and the boy's still as gullible as the farmer that trusted a fox to guard the hen-house.

He headed out to the gardens to compare notes with his conspiratorial wife.

* * *

'You're doing this the stupid way, Draco,' said Pansy.

After failed effort three hundred and seventy-two, Draco was getting desperate. So far, nothing Tinker could conjure up satisfied his wife in the least. He was now reduced to desperately seeking advice from others.

At his kitchen table, Draco eyed her over his coffee. 'You'll need to be more specific.'

'You're trying to make your demanding – and rightfully so – wife a hot chocolate by yourself.'

'Don't be an ass, Pans. The house-elves are doing it. More accurately, they're not doing it.'

Tinker, standing on a stool at the kitchen bench, surrounded by tomes of recipes, burst into tears.

'Tinker is sorry, sir! With sir's permission, Tinker will fling himself off the roof, sir!'

Draco rolled his eyes. 'No, Tinker, you will not. Just take five while Miss Pansy and I talk.'

'Begging pardon, sir, but what do I take five of?'

'He means have a break from work, Tinker,' Pansy explained.

'Oh.' Tinker's ears drooped. 'Tinker will stop work, sir.'

He sloped off with his head hanging low and his lower lip wobbling.

Draco gripped his luscious hair in frustration. 'Anyway, you were saying?'

'Consult the professionals, you idiot. Or better yet, get them to make it for you. She's hardly likely to complain about a hot choc made by the finest chef in the country, is she?'

'You might be on to something there,' Draco said thoughtfully.

Pansy preened. 'Well, obviously.'

'So, who's the best chef in the country, then?'

Pansy gaped at him, her eyes wide. 'How would I know? I don't cook.'

Draco banged his head on the table. He was starting to understand why the house elves liked doing it.

'Oh, get over yourself. Ron's addicted to those cooking programmes they show on that Muggle contraption hanging on our living room wall. He'll know.'

Draco stared at the kitchen's sparkling clean surface. The day had finally come where he would have to solicit advice from Ron 'The Prat-with-the-Never-Ending Stomach' Weasley. He'd best cast a protective charm if he headed outside, in case the pigs flying overhead dropped a very smelly load.

Is ten-thirty in the morning too early to start drinking?

* * *

Draco followed Pansy out of the Floo and into the house she shared with her long-term orange squeeze, Ron Weasley.

The man himself looked up from a couch, muted the TV, and guiltily moved his feet off the coffee table. 'Malfoy,' he acknowledged after kissing Pansy hello.

'Weasley,' Draco nodded.

'Draco wants to know who the best chef in England is,' Pansy said.

'Eh? Whyzzat?'

'Because Hermione has a craving for a salted caramel hot chocolate, but nothing she's been presented with so far cuts the mustard.'

Ron sniggered, and Draco ground his teeth. If that ginger prat dared say _one_ word about him not being able to satisfy his wife, there'll be a Weasley-sized hole in their living room wall. Enduring Pansy's wrath would be worth it.

'I told him how you watch all the cooking shows on your talking wall thingy' –

'Television, sweetheart.'

-'uh-huh, so I was sure you could give him a helping hand!'

Ron blinked.

'And you'd better not put me wrong, because it'll be Hermione who suffers in the end,' Draco added.

'Yeah, yeah, all righ',' Ron mumbled. He gave Pansy and Draco some room on the couch, rescued the remote and proceed to give Draco an education.

* * *

'What the fuck is this?' stormed the craggy, blonde chef (name of Gideon Ramsberg) who stomped into Hermione and Draco's townhouse with an entourage - including camera crew – and into their modern, spacious kitchen. Fortunately, they lived in Muggle London and the house-elves had been sent to Malfoy Manor for the day.

Draco looked around him. Seemed like a perfectly ordinary kitchen to him. He wouldn't know. He didn't spend any time in it.

'What the fuck is what?' he asked the shrill-tempered man politely.

'This kitchen! It's fucking beautiful, mate!'

Chef Ramsberg and two or three of his entourage opened every cupboard and drawer they could find, exclaiming over this and that, describing everything in a language that would make a sailor faint.

Draco glanced at the crew member standing next to him – a pale wraith of a young woman looking very gothic chic in a black high-necked, long-sleeved Victorian mini-dress with ripped fishnet tights, purple Doc Martens and two piercings in her lower lip. 'I don't recall agreeing to the cameras,' he remarked.

She stared at him blankly. 'Your skin is so pale,' she eventually whispered. 'Have you thought about embracing goth fashion?'

Draco edged away from her.

'Right!' bellowed Chef, standing in the kitchen with his hands on his hips. 'What's this bloody thing I'm supposed to make, yeah?'

'A salted caramel hot chocolate for my pregnant wife,' Draco replied evenly. He was pretty sure he'd mentioned it a hundred times to this ponce's personnel.

'Is that it?' Chef scorned, then he let out another laugh. 'Piece of piss, mate!' He clapped his hands, summoning his minions. 'Right! Let's crack on!'

* * *

After an hour and many re-takes of the same actions so the cameras could get shots from different angles, the kitchen looked like a bomb site. Every appliance Draco and Hermione owned was on the kitchen benches, looking thoroughly worn out and fed up, and ingredients that even Draco knew didn't belong in a salted caramel hot chocolate were scattered over every remaining flat surface. Such as rice and refried beans. Camera and lighting cables snaked over the floor.

Tinker will be overjoyed when he gets home, Draco thought.

But the great Chef was satisfied. He eyeballed the tall glass, brimming with caramel-chocolate goodness, topped with a _frission_ of gently whipped cream with a salted caramel drizzle splattered elegantly on top.

'It looks like I took a shit in a blender, then blended it,' was his opinion. 'It's fucking perfect!'

Draco gripped the edge of the kitchen table for support.

Chef put the glass on a tray and picked it up. 'Right! Where's the missus?'

Draco boggled. 'You want to meet her?'

'Yeah, o'course, you stupid prat!' Chef retorted. 'I want the cameras to capture her moment of bliss as she samples the best fucking hot chocolate in the world.'

A migraine of epic proportions was forming behind Draco's temples. 'I'll show you,' he said, and led the delegation to their final destination. 'But let me talk to her first, all right?'

* * *

Draco knocked on the bedroom door and stuck his head around it. Hermione was having one of her worse days, and she was curled up on the bed in a lambswool blanket, demolishing a massive tome. She looked up listlessly. 'Do you have salted caramel hot chocolate?' she asked.

'Well, yes,' Draco admitted, but' –

The door burst open, and Chef, cameras and lighting technicians crowded into their bedroom.

'Hey!' said Draco angrily. 'Give me a minute' –

'Mrs Malfoy, I am Chef Gideon Ramsberg, although you probably recognise me from the TV,' he said with patently false modesty. 'Your doting husband asked me to create the world's best salted caramel hot chocolate, just for you.' He beamed and presented her the tray.

Hermione took in all the hoopla with a silent look, sat up and accepted Chef's offering. She took a delicate sniff, then put the glass to her lips.

Chef's chest was puffed up like a pie lid made from puff pastry. 'You'll notice that the cream is in fact the finest French Chantilly cream, which is' –

'It's too sweet.' Hermione held the barely-touched glass out to him. 'Thank you, anyway.'

Chef's eyes practically fell out of his head. 'T-too sweet?' he gurgled.

'Yes,' she replied coolly. 'But thank you for trying.' She retrieved her book and curled up under the blanket.

Chef managed to curb his tongue until everyone had re-assembled in the kitchen. Then he let loose such a vicious stream of swearwords that they might have blown the roof off the house if it wasn't so soundly attached.

After Chef had hurled every expletive in the English language at Draco, plus a few more he made up on the spot, Draco folded his arms, gave him the Malfoy Look and said 'I made it crystal clear that my wife has very particular tastes. If I thought it would be easy to give her a cup of hot chocolate that she liked, do you think I would have wasted my money employing you and your band of merry misfits?'

Chef's mouth opened and closed.

'I believe your usefulness has come to an end,' Draco snapped. 'Now get the fuck out.'

Everyone quickly packed their crap up and sailed out of his life.

When the front door slammed shut, he counted to ten and called out 'Tinker!'

The loyal house elf immediately appeared. He took one look at the filthy kitchen and burst into tears.

'Master Draco must love Tinker very much to provide so much work for him!' he sobbed happily.

Draco rolled his eyes. At least someone in this house is happy with him.

He girded up his loins and climbed the stairs to their bedroom. Hermione was overdue a few explanations.

He had a feeling he'd be sleeping in the spare room tonight.

* * *

You'd have thought Draco would have learned a lesson from Chef Ramsberg's blended shit-show, but he theorised that lightning couldn't strike in the same place twice.

His second engagement didn't turn up with a camera crew, which was an improvement. No, celebrity cook Naomi Lawton only brought along she, herself, and her phenomenal breasts.

'So pleased to meet you, Drrraaco,' she purred, holding out an upper-class hand for him to shake.

Draco tried his utmost to look this domestic goddess in the eye, but his peepers had gone on strike and were steadfastly refusing to leave her bosom. In fact, it looked like they were preparing for a sit-in. 'L-likewise, Ms Lawton.'

She laughed throatily. 'Please, call me Naomi, darling,' she said in a low, sexy voice. 'I think it's absolutely lovely of you to go to such lengths to make your wife happy in her time of need.' Her expressive eyes blinked sincerely (not that Draco noticed).

He felt like his shirt collar was choking him. Who turned the bloody central heating in the house up to boiling?

At least Naomi understood what was required of her. She even bought some ingredients along.

'I always believe that the secret to a divine hot chocolate is to use the best possible chocolate.' She smiled sultrily. Then she whipped out a king-sized block of something Draco had never heard of and peeled off the wrapper. She broke off a couple of tablets.

'This is one of my favourite chocolates,' she enthused, picking up a tablet and holding it up to the light. 'It has a dark, rich flavour with well-rounded smoothness.' She winked at him. 'A most tempting morsel,' she grinned. 'Try some.'

She leaned over the kitchen bench, holding the tablet out to him. She did not aim for his hand, oh no. She held the chocolate to his lips, and like a baby who's faced with a spoonful of something hopefully edible, he opened his mouth – and Naomi slid it onto his tongue.

The first thing that came to his mind was 'Wow. That is nice chocolate.'

The second thing was discovering Hermione leaning against the kitchen doorframe with her arms crossed.

'Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend, darling?' she asked politely.

* * *

Ms Lawton knew when three's a crowd, and she swiftly made an exit, leaving the chocolate behind. 'I ate truckloads of it when I was pregnant with my two, Mrs Malfoy,' she said helpfully. 'It really did the trick.'

Hermione smiled and thanked her, but as soon as the front door closed, she burst into hysterical tears and accused Draco of not loving her anymore because she was fat and ugly.

It took Draco a good hour and a half to calm his sobbing wife down.

Holding her in his arms, he gently wiped her tears away. 'Hermione, I love you so much that it scares me sometimes. When I wake up every morning to find you lying in my arms, I still find it hard to believe that you chose to be with such a high-maintenance, arrogant prat like me. I thank Merlin every day that we share our lives together. And I'm in such awe of you, carrying a life that we've created.'

Her sobs dwindled to sniffles, and she apologised for slightly over-reacting.

He still had to sleep in the spare room that night, though.

* * *

Draco slumped over the breakfast table, his head in his hands, staring at Naomi's chocolate.

What the hell was he going to bloody well DO?

Everything had been tried and failed. Pre-prepared store-bought stuff bombed. Every recipe Tinker unearthed from every wizarding household he could sneak into failed. Efforts from the professionals caused more problems than they solved.

Meanwhile, Hermione was getting more and more miserable. Not cranky. Miserable. He was beside himself with worry.

Slytherin's saggy scrotum. Barely one year into marriage, and he'd spectacularly failed to provide for his wife.

He pulled the chocolate closer, and noticed a piece of paper underneath it. It was Ms Lawton's recipe for salted caramel hot chocolate. Despondent, he read it while nibbling on some chocolate.

It didn't look as complicated as something like Ancient Runes. The ingredients looked quite basic. The only thing he wasn't sure about was the caramel. But if he could find out how to make that…

He stroked his beautiful chin. It would mean having to beg for Weasley advice twice - but his wife was hurting, damn it!

Time to jettison a little Malfoy pride.

* * *

Molly Weasley welcomed Draco into her large, comfy kitchen and listened to his tale of woe with wide, sympathetic eyes.

'Of course I can show you how to make it!' she cried. 'You silly sausage. Why didn't you come to me before?'

'Why'd you take advice from Ron, is what we'd like to know!' chortled Fred, sitting at the kitchen table next to George, both blatantly eavesdropping.

'An error of judgement, brought on by pregnant wife-induced sleep deprivation,' Draco muttered.

Molly stood up. It was her time to shine. 'Right, you lot! Out you get!' she ordered.

'Aw, Mum!' groaned the twins. 'We want to see Draco wearing an apron!'

'OUT!'

They wisely bolted.

'You too, dear,' she said to Arthur, who was reading the _Prophet_ the entire time and had no idea that Draco had even turned up.

When the coast was clear, Molly turned to Draco with a beatific smile on her face. 'Now we begin.'

* * *

Wearily, Draco crawled up the stairs to their bedroom, carefully clutching a mug of home-made, salted caramel hot chocolate. He gently knocked on the door and eased in.

The woman he loved beyond all measure lay listlessly on her side, cradling her just-showing baby bump and staring unseeingly out of their French doors. His heart ached for her.

'Hermione,' he whispered, 'I have a cup of salted caramel hot chocolate.'

At length, she raised herself and turned over. 'Who made it?' she croaked.

'I did,' he nervously replied.

'Is it from a packet?'

'No. I made it from scratch.'

Slowly, she sat up and accepted the mug Draco proffered her. She inspected it.

'Um, the whipped cream didn't hold together that well,' he said apologetically.

She looked at him, brought the mug to her lips, and took a sip.

'How?' she asked simply.

'I asked Molly to teach me,' he admitted. 'I had to test dozens of batches on the twins until I got it right.' He smirked. 'That was quite fun, I have to admit.'

She took another sip.

'Um… is it okay?' he asked humbly. Well. As humbly as a Malfoy could.

She smiled. 'It's absolutely perfect,' she replied.

Draco's knees almost gave out. 'Oh, thank Merlin,' he gasped, and collapsed onto the bed.

His wife's arms wrapped around him. 'Do you know what makes it perfect?' she whispered.

'It's Molly's recipe?' he guessed.

She brushed her nose against his and laughed. 'Because you made it yourself with love and care.'

'I'm so glad you're happy, love,' he murmured, and they kissed their kiss - their unique kiss; a kiss no other couple would ever know how to do.

When they parted, Hermione said 'Is it okay if you make the drink from now on?'

Draco kissed her forehead and said 'I'll go to the ends of the earth for you, love.'

'Good,' she smiled. She held out her empty mug.

Draco boggled. When on earth did she scull that?

'Can I have another, please?'

The end.


End file.
